Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice
by SRaven-Underhill
Summary: Hermione Granger is captured by Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort sees her as an asset. When the Dark Lord manipulates her into taking a mysterious potion, she must resist temptation and put the pieces together in order to change the tide of the war.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hello, everyone! This is my first fanfic, so I apologize if my characterizations are a bit off. I will try to have better development as the story progresses. This is meant to start in the middle of things, and therefore it might be a bit confusing, but everything will get sorted in due course. If you like it (or even if you don't) please leave a review.

Weave a Circle Round Him Thrice

_And all who heard should see them there,_

_And all should cry, Beware! Beware!_

_His flashing eyes, his floating hair!_

_Weave a circle round him thrice,_

_And close your eyes with holy dread,_

_For he on honey-dew hath fed,_

_And drunk the milk of Paradise._

_- _Coleridge, _Kubla Khan_

Hermione Granger was in a pickle. A long thin chain pulled against the silver collar around her neck and the matching silver wrist cuffs, ending in the hand of a dark cloaked figure in front of her. She chastised herself over and over again for her carelessness. At least Harry and Ron had escaped. She was still wearing the sleeveless red dress that she had worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding, and the cool air caused goose bumps to form along her arms. The trio was caught off guard in the London coffee shop. How had the Death Eaters even found them there? She should have apparated them to a safer location, though there was nothing she could do about it now, obviously. Using the element of surprise to their advantage, the Death Eaters had blindfolded her, taken her wand and her beaded bag, and tried to use her to get Harry. However, several muggles had walked into the shop and Harry and Ron were trying to protect them as well. In what she assumed was an act of panic, the Death Eaters simply apparated with her in tow.

Once they had apparated a number of times, making Hermione feel rather queasy, they stopped and removed the blindfold. She looked up at a tall iron gate, the entrance to an equally foreboding manor house. The two Death Eaters remained silent and Hermione steeled herself for what was to come. There were powerful wards around the manor, though she had expected no less. She could almost feel the weight of them, making the air thick and difficult to breathe. As they approached the large oak doors, one of them creaked open, a house elf bowing as the Death Eaters passed. Though Hermione didn't struggle, the chain was jerked, causing her to stumble into the foyer. It was quiet and dark, with only a few lit candles lining the walls. Hermione's heart began to race as she was led up a stone staircase and she wondered if she was about to die. Taking several deep breaths, she tried to remain calm. Regardless of what was about to happen, she refused to beg for her life or to sell out her best friend.

Soft voices could be heard in a room upstairs and she could see candlelight casting shadows on the wall opposite the entrance. One of the Death Eaters walked ahead to announce them. He bowed low and remained in such a position until the Dark Lord bid him to bring her in. An icy coldness swept through her as she heard his voice. She shivered, her entire body tense. Though she didn't want to admit it, she was eager to meet this man, this powerful wizard who had caused her life to turn upside down. It was as if she would be able to unload all of her hate, all of her sorrow, through one glance into his cold, hard eyes.

The room was dominated by a long dining table, at which sat many of the Dark Lord's closest followers. She spotted Draco first and glared at him in disapproval. However, she regretted it almost immediately, for she saw the undiluted fear in his eyes. His father, Lucius, looked haggard and tense. In fact, the only person who looked truly happy to be there was Bellatrix Lestrange. Hermione attributed that to her lack of mental stability. The Dark Lord, of course, sat at the head of the table, his snake curled by his feet. He was studying her as the Death Eaters led her around the table to stand in front of him. She refused to look away, even as they jerked the chain, causing her to fall to her knees.

"Good evening, Ms. Granger," the Dark Lord said, his voice low and soft.

Hermione simply stared at him, choosing not to offer a verbal response.

Voldemort smirked and leaned forward slightly. "And what shall I do with you, the mudblood friend of Harry Potter?"

"I'm not going to help you," Hermione said, allowing just enough venom to seep into her words.

This caused the Dark Lord to chuckle. In a quick, fluid movement, he grabbed the chain that connected the collar and the wrist cuffs, pulling her up towards him. Her thighs quivered with the strain of holding the position and the metal collar bit into her skin. "Do you think I need information from you? I could simply keep you and wait for Potter to come to the rescue. I know him well, Hermione," the way he said her name made her heart race again, like her name was a word only to be whispered in the most sordid of places.

He was too close, her breathing quickened and she could feel his power like tiny shocks all over her skin. She struggled against his grip, trying to distance herself, though all she managed was to cause herself further discomfort.

"I would rather die," she said. Though as soon as the words left her lips, she knew they weren't true. She was certain the Dark Lord could feel her lack of conviction. It had been a stupid cliché response, the realization of which caused her cheeks to flush.

He smirked. "What spirit you have, Hermione Granger. However, every spirit can be broken. Survival is a baser instinct. I could have you begging for your life or crawling to me in absolute submission." He stared down at her with such intensity that Hermione felt her mouth go dry. She refused to look away. Suddenly, he let go of the chain and she collapsed to the floor by his feet.

"Take her to the dungeons," he ordered, not sparing her another glance.

One of the Death Eaters pulled her up by her arm while the other grabbed hold of the chain.

"You don't know him as well as you think you do, Voldemort," She spat as the Death Eaters dragged her out of the room.

"Perhaps I know him better than you do, my dear," he said. His followers chuckled at his use of the term, as it was far more patronizing and far less endearing when it came from his lips.

Hermione scowled and whispered, "Touché" under her breath. She struggled several times on the long walk to the dungeons, but her captors only restrained her further and levitated her the rest of the way. She started to tell them how stupid the chains were. Why hadn't they just levitated her to begin with? Was it the aesthetic of it all? However, they gagged her the moment she began to speak and all she could do was mumble angrily.

Once they reached an empty cell, they took off the restraints and threw her in, locking the bars with a few whispered spells. They left her alone. Hermione sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Once the adrenaline wore off, she began to shiver. How could she possibly escape? Would Harry come? Did she want him to risk his life and the war to save her? Her chest tightened at the thought of Harry not coming, though she new it was selfish. She felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked in rapid succession in order to still them. Crying would do her no good. She rubbed her face with her hands and stood up, pacing around the small cell. She was often told that she was the cleverest witch of her age, and now would be a good time to use said cleverness. It was clear that Voldemort underestimated her, which was something she could use to her advantage.


	2. Dubious Plots

AN: Thank you for the reviews, everyone! If you left a signed review, I replied via PM (I don't believe there were any anonymous reviewers). Thank you also to those who added my story to their favorites or their alert lists.

On a side note, I won't be able to write chapter 3 until next weekend, so it will be over a week until the next update.

Reviews really brighten my day and inspire me to write more :D *hint hint*

Chapter II: Dubious Plots

Hermione had been left alone in her cell for what seemed like ages. Civilizations had surely risen and fallen during the time she had been left there. She had managed to sleep for a few hours, when her tired and traumatized brain had finally shut down. She woke up as the coldness seeped into her bones, the measly wool blanket on the floor doing little to shield her from the stones that pushed into her side. She stared at the ceiling, which looked very similar to the floor, and considered her escape plan. One thing was for sure, if she were left down there to rot, there wouldn't be much of a contingency plan.

She was just congratulating herself over her ability to remain calm when she heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. She scrambled up into a sitting position and leaned against the back wall, trying to look casual. She was worried, afraid even, but she would be damned if they saw it. The footsteps grew louder as she waited. She knew the footsteps didn't belong to Lord Voldemort, though she couldn't explain how she knew such a thing. Perhaps she imagined him as a sans shoes kind of wizard. Her eyes widened as she saw Draco appear on the other side of the bars. Hermione stood, brushing the dirt off of her dress.

"Draco?" It seemed to be the only appropriate greeting, as 'hey' was something that seemed more suited for casual conversations in the Great Hall and less appropriate when speaking to a Death Eater who was currently enforcing your captivity.

"Granger," Draco said, though it lacked the usual vibrato and aristocratic snootiness. "The Dark Lord wants to see you."

"And instead of coming down here to speak to me, he sends you?" Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Look, Granger. Your attitude is going to get you killed," he said in a harsh whisper. "You need to come with me quietly and do as he says. He isn't exactly patient and if he decides that you are more trouble than you're worth…" Draco leaned his forehead against one of the metal bars for a moment before pulling out his wand and unlocking the door.

Hermione studied him for a moment before walking to the front of the cell. She didn't exactly like Draco, but she didn't want to create trouble for him either. He still pointed his wand at her, binding her hands behind her back as a black blindfold slipped over her eyes. He probably thought she wasn't above fighting him with her bare hands, and if he had been someone else, he would have been right.

He led her up the stairs (where she only stumbled a few times) and through the manor without another word. After a few minutes they stopped and Draco knocked on a door. The only response she heard was the slight creaking of door hinges. Draco led her through, and moments after she heard footsteps and the heavy thud of the door closing behind him.

It was unnerving to know that someone, presumably the Dark Lord, sat in the room, but wasn't making any noise. She couldn't hear the rustle of robes or even his breathing, only the steady crackle of the fireplace. She shifted her feet, beginning to feel awkward.

"I believe I prefer you like this, Ms. Granger," the Dark Lord whispered into her ear.

Caught completely by surprise, Hermione jumped and emitted a tiny yelp. The Dark Lord chuckled.

"Silent and waiting for my direction," he continued.

She could feel him walk around her now, the silk of his robes brushing against her bare legs. Hermione scowled beneath the blindfold. He moved away from her and the blindfold lifted, breaking the spell that bound her wrists as well. She blinked several times, her eyes adjusting to the light. Voldemort sat in a plush green chair next to the fire.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the floor space in front of him.

Clenching both teeth and fists, Hermione slowly walked over and sat down in front of him, crossing her legs and her arms. He smirked.

"Did you bring me out of the dungeons for small talk and silly games? Or was there a real reason?" She said.

"Crucio," Voldemort said softly with a slight twist of his wand.

Hermione became a tangle of limbs as the curse tore through her body. She screamed and clawed at the floor as the Dark Lord stared down at her, emotionless. When her screams became unintelligible murmurings, he lifted it. Hermione's body shuddered in the aftermath as she took big gulps of air.

"Perhaps you have forgotten your place, mudblood," he said, as if admonishing a small child.

Hermione struggled into a half sitting position. Somewhere, Draco Malfoy was whispering, 'I told you so.' She was sure of it. Since she wasn't up for being on the receiving end of another crucio, she simply looked up at him.

"Better," he said after a few moments of silence. "I've brought you out of the dungeons in order to tell you that you have been sacrificed to the cause, for the greater good, so to speak."

Well, technically Draco had brought her out of the dungeons, but she thought it wise not to argue over semantics. "Sacrificed to the cause?" She asked, hoping he would elaborate.

"You see, it seems that the Order finds you quite expendable, Ms. Granger," he studied her expression for a moment before continuing. "They aren't coming to recue you from my clutches. Do you think Potter will go rogue in order to save you?" His smile was smug and his gloating obvious.

She hoped he wasn't serious. Hadn't Harry always gone rogue? "And does this mean I'm expendable to you as well?"

"Not yet," he said.

There was something in his eyes that she didn't like, a flicker of malice combined with a dubious plot. So, while she was still allowed to continue breathing, there was perhaps something far worse in store for her. She hoped Harry wouldn't put off searching for horcruxes to come and find her, though she had to admit he sometimes suffered from a hero complex. He meant too much to her and she hoped he made the right decision. She carefully adverted her eyes from Voldemort's. He couldn't know about their quest to destroy his horcruxes. She needed a crash course on _occlumency_.

She hadn't seen the Dark Lord give any signal, but nevertheless, Draco strode back into the room. The firelight accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, making him seem vaguely corpse-like.

"Take her back to her cell, Draco," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

Draco bowed and pulled Hermione up off of the floor, using the same spells as before to bind her hands and blindfold her. Because making a mad dash for the front door was a definite possibility. Hermione took advantage of the blindfold and rolled her eyes. He said nothing as he half dragged her back to the dungeons. Once she was back inside the cell, Draco removed the enchantments and locked the cell door. He stared at her through the bars and opened his mouth as if to say something, but reconsidered and quickly strode back down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

She sat huddled on her makeshift bed since her body was still sore from the curse. Had the Order really abandoned her? Was Voldemort trying to turn her against her friends? Had the Order spread false information in order to deceive him? It was difficult to say. Regardless, he wanted something from her, which was perhaps the most disturbing news of the day. She wasn't sure what he thought she could offer him, but perhaps it could mean a chance for her to escape or even kill him. The thought stunned her, she hadn't really considered killing anyone before. Could she go through with it if given the chance? It would be stupid of her to pass up such an opportunity if it presented itself.

She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. He had never mentioned why she wasn't expendable to him. In fact, that entire encounter was rather odd. Hermione mulled it over for quite some time, attempting to dissect Voldemort's actions and words. She came up empty handed.

Many hours passed in which the only other being she saw was a house elf that brought her a small plate of food and a cup of water. She nibbled at it half-heartedly and wondered if this would be her daily schedule; sit in a cell most of the day, have peculiar meetings with the Dark Lord, eat meager leftovers. However, little did she know then that it would become far worse. Days passed and became weeks. She ate what the house elf brought her, she slept on and off, and yet no one came. It became easy to imagine that she was alone there in the small cell, that the world simply didn't exist past those stone walls. She kept herself sane by thinking about Harry and Ron. She hoped they were safe.

No one was coming for her.

Harry and Ron sat at the kitchen table of 12 _Grimmauld_ Place.

"We need Hermione," Harry said, cupping his chin in his hand.

"But how do we even find her? We don't know where she is," Ron sighed.

"It just doesn't feel right, planning this break in to the Ministry, we should be trying to find her," Harry stared down at the table.

The silence stretched between them, but it was eventually decided that they would continue with their plan to break into the Ministry. After, hopefully, finding the locket, they would focus their efforts on finding Hermione.

Harry sat on the couch later that evening, staring at the golden snitch floating in front of him. It was his fault that Hermione was captured. He was trying to protect everyone and it was all happening so quickly. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.


	3. In Which Hermione Receives a Book

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters or the world, etc. I'm not making money from this story.

AN – Thank you to everyone who reviewed! If you left a signed review, I replied via PM and if you left an anonymous review, you can find my reply at my Livejournal. My username is sravenunderhill. FFN won't allow links to things outside of this site.

Thank you also to those who added my story to their favs or alert lists. If you haven't reviewed yet, please do, I do a happy dance every time a see a notification for a new review.

Chapter III: In Which Hermione Receives a Book

Hermione's brain felt sluggish due to inactivity. She had never gone this long without reading or studying. She had long ago stopped trying to count the days; it was nearly impossible since there wasn't any sunlight in the dungeons. It was always dark, with the exception of a few flickering candles. She was beginning to wonder why she was still alive. It seemed obvious that Harry wasn't coming and Voldemort seemed to have forgotten about her altogether. What had happened to his supposed plots? Hermione sighed and sat up in the corner of the cell, beginning to do arithmancy equations in her head to pass the time.

She hadn't had any visitors for weeks, so it was quite a surprise when Voldemort himself appeared suddenly on the other side of the bars. Hermione was jerked out of her equations as she looked at him disbelievingly. She was so starved for human contact that she stood up and walked towards the front of the cell. It was a sad day indeed when even Lord Voldemort seemed like good company. They both stared at one another for several moments before he broke the silence.

"You smell foul," he said, sounding slightly disgusted.

Hermione pursed her lips. "_That's_ what you have come down here to tell me? That I smell?" Her voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar from lack of use.

"I came down here to bring you this," he held up a small book that was as black as his robes. "But you are far too filthy to handle it."

Her eyes widened slightly as some of her former liveliness returned. "A book?" She replied, incredulous.

"Your powers of observation continue to serve you well, Ms. Granger," he said dryly. He tucked the book away and Hermione felt her heart sink. Voldemort opened the bars with a wave of his hand.

"Come," he said.

She briefly wondered if this was a trick, but the opportunity to leave this dingy cell was too great to pass up. She walked slowly through the opening on bare feet (she had given up wearing her shoes long ago). Her body tensed as she walked into the corridor, but nothing happened.

"Follow me," he said and turned to walk down the corridor.

She stared after him, dumbstruck. "Aren't you going to bind my hands? Blindfold me?"

"That won't be necessary. I do not need such spells to bind you. However, if you so much as think of trying to attack me, I will torture you until you go mad." He looked over his shoulder at her, "It would be a pity to destroy a mind such as yours…" He smirked and Hermione wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a thinly veiled insult. Probably the latter.

However, he had a point. She didn't even have a wand, and stealing his wasn't really an option if she wanted to continue breathing. She followed him down the corridor and up the stairs. As they walked, she couldn't help but notice his gracefulness; he didn't so much as walk, but float. Once they were on the main level of the house, he led her up another flight of stairs and into a bathroom. It was simple yet elegant, with marble floors, bathtub, and sink. The walls were pale grey, which accentuated the veins in the marble.

So, she was a bathroom with Lord Voldemort. That wasn't awkward. She looked around nervously, but tried to appear nonchalant. She caught sight of herself in a large oval mirror above the sink and stared. Her skin was dull and dark circles had formed under her eyes, Mrs. Weasley probably would have gone into cardiac arrest over her loss of weight. Or perhaps not, they had left her to rot after all. She closed her eyes for a moment to compose her thoughts; she shouldn't criminalize them. Voldemort came to stand behind her and they locked eyes through the reflection.

"They do not deserve you, Hermione," he said softly, and the way he said her name made her shiver. He didn't use it often, but when he did it felt….wrong somehow, like corruption. On his lips, her name was full of promise, like he was privy to certain secrets about her, secrets she had not yet realized.

She had no idea why, but his soft words made her eyes sting and she suddenly had to hold back tears. What was wrong with her? She turned away from the mirror and his gaze, even the reflection of which was intense.

He smirked at her. "Would you care for a bath, Ms. Granger?"

Ugh. Of course she wanted a bath, but bath time with the Dark Lord? Not exactly preferable. "Yes…" she replied lamely.

He snapped his fingers and within seconds a house elf appeared. "Draw our guest a bath," he ordered.

The house elf bowed and began running the water, adding different salts and soaps. Hermione nearly swooned as the steam filled the room with the scent of sandalwood. While the bath was filling up, the house elf moved an ornate black leather chair to sit before the tub. Hermione sniffed, the chair seemed more suited to an office, but thought it best not to question his decorating sense. The elf switched off the faucets and held out her hands to take Hermione's clothes. She blushed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Can't you…..turn around of something?" She said.

"Do you want a bath or not, Ms. Granger? I don't have time for your modesty."

To her, it wasn't exactly an unfair request. Would it have behooved him so to simply close his eyes? Hermione bit her lip and glanced over at the deliciously steaming and fragrant water, complete with bubbles. What. An. Asshole. She quickly divested herself of clothing, keeping her back to him, before hurrying into the tub. She winced and then sighed, closing her eyes. Her muscles were so tense from sleeping on the cold floor of her cell that the sudden heat was almost painful. She sank down into the water, momentarily forgetting about the presence of He Who is Extremely Rude.

Voldemort pulled out the black book again and placed it on the marble counter. The small thump drew her attention back to him.

She had almost forgotten about the book, the bath being a distracting luxury.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked, gesturing to the small black book.

The book didn't seem to have any distinguishable markings at first glance and she briefly wondered if it was a trick question. She doubted he would pass up the opportunity to make her look like a fool. Then, she noticed an old symbol that she had only seen once before in books of lore, a Celtic knot of sorts that was formed by the body of a dragon.

"The symbol looks familiar, like something I have seen in history books about an old philosophy, but it was written that the original works of the group had been burned," she said, trying to make sure she was well hidden beneath the bubbles.

He nodded. "It's a very old text, one that was written long before the differentiations between light and dark magic. In those times, it was simply Magicae," he said, studying her. "I'm not surprised you saw this symbol in a history text, though I imagine many books in the Hogwarts library would cite it as a reference to a cult religion. Hence the burning."

Hermione was intrigued. This book was extremely rare. To read it was perhaps a once in a lifetime experience. "And why do you want me to read it?" She asked, suspicious.

He smirked. "Because there is much for you to learn outside of the Hogwarts curriculum. Not everything is black and white, as the Order would have you believe. It's important to read and form your own opinions instead of being swayed by the biases of others."

Yet wasn't he attempting to sway her? He had left her in his dungeon for weeks and now he was letting her have a bath and giving her books? Though he hadn't exactly said, "join the dark side" yet, it seemed implicit. She felt drained. The warm bath water was beginning to make her feel sleepy. Her accommodations in the dungeons didn't inspire her to sleep much. She leaned her head all the way back to wet her hair and began to wash it lazily.

"And what about your bias?" She said.

He smirked at her, seeming pleased. "And what do you know of my views, Ms. Granger, except what has been relayed to you by your precious Order?"

She remained silent. Voldemort: 1 Hermione: 0.

The silence stretched for a few minutes and she began to feel extraordinarily tired, yet simultaneously aware. It was a different kind of awareness, not of her surroundings, but of magic itself. The Dark Lord mentioned a few things about the translation, but his voice seemed to come from far away. She felt light, like she was in a dream, and perhaps she was. That would explain the sudden change in treatment. She splashed her face with water and rinsed some of the remaining soap from her hair. Her eyes closed.

"What do you want from me?" She mumbled as she leaned her head back against the edge of the tub.

Voldemort leaned forward and brushed a few strands of wet hair out of her face. "I want your soul, Hermione Granger," he said softly as she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Harry and Ron shivered. They had managed to get the locket at the Ministry, but everything had gone extremely wrong, as per usual. Harry was surprised they had managed to get the locket at all. However, their escape left something to be desired. Yaxley had grabbed Ron's leg as they apparated and when they landed at Grimmauld Place, Yaxley pulled his wand on them. Harry and Ron had rushed him and apparated away into the English countryside, not knowing where else to go.

Harry rubbed his face with his hands. It was cold and they had nothing except the clothes they were wearing, their wands, and the locket. Hermione had been the one who had enough foresight to pack a bag full of necessities and now she was gone.

"We have to move, Ron. Find shelter," he said, standing up and brushing the dirt off of his pants.

"Yeah, I guess," said Ron petulantly.

They walked through the forest and just as the sun was beginning to set, they found an empty cave. They were both tired and drained and neither questioned the consequences of starting a fire. Warming charms just weren't the same, and they felt they deserved some comfort.

The small flames of their fire reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen and he sighed. They would be going hungry tonight. Ron, who was rather grumpy on an empty stomach, turned his back to Harry and slept. Harry kept watch, but the forest was eerily silent with no sign of life anywhere. He stared up at the stars and wondered what they would do next. He questioned whether Hermione was the priority anymore and felt sick at the thought.


	4. Magical Companions

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, etc. I'm just playing with them. Not making any money. You know the drill._

**AN**: Hello, everyone! Sorry about the delay. I've been traveling and working on homework, so I haven't had much time to write. Thank you to all of those who read and reviewed! (AbeNMiss and A fan, the two anon reviewers, I hope you both enjoy this new chapter! Sorry about the update speed!) If you left a signed review, I replied via PM.

* * *

_Chapter IV – Magical Companions_

Hermione felt heavy, as if her limbs had lead weights attached to them, yet she felt remarkably comfortable. However, as consciousness slowly crept through her fog-addled brain, she became less so. Her head pounded with a steady tempo near her temples, causing her to clench her eyes shut tight. Just as she was wishing that she could slip back into unconsciousness, a glass vial was held against her lips. Her immediate reaction was to press her lips into a thin line, but a high-pitched voice pleaded with her.

"It's for your headache, misses," the house elf said.

Easily convinced due to her extreme discomfort, she conceded and swallowed all of the potion offered to her. Within seconds the steady pounding began to ebb and she sighed in relief. Slowly, she opened her eyes, thankful that the light in the room was rather dim. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she wasn't in her cell and the comfort she had noticed earlier was due to the bed she now rested on. A bed. With a real mattress and fluffy pillows. Granted, the bed wasn't very large and the room's furnishings were rather sparse, but it was a definite upgrade from the cold cell.

The house elf stared at her with wide eyes. "Misses must stay in bed. Someone will be in to check on her later."

Before Hermione could respond, the house elf had disappeared. She didn't move for several minutes. Though her head was feeling better, she still felt incredibly weak. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a grimace. She glanced over at a small empty bookcase (an empty bookcase, what a travesty), and contemplated how she had arrived in this room. The last thing she remembered was being in the bath with Voldemort. A blush crept up her cheeks. Well not _with_ Voldemort, they had been speaking about something. Her brow creased as she tried to remember. A book, a rather old and rare book on magic. Hermione closed her eyes, but she couldn't really remember anything after that, just a vague and powerful feeling of relaxation. With her eyes closed and her headache mostly stymied, she began to fall asleep again. She managed to fight it for a few more minutes before giving in.

* * *

Ron and Harry stared sullenly at the small fire between them. They had the locket, yet they had no idea how to destroy it. Ron, of course, had pointed this out to Harry several times already. The problem was that Harry didn't know how to destroy the horcrux or how to find out a way to do so, and he was rather bitter (though he didn't admit it to Ron) that Dumbledore hadn't imparted that knowledge to him. It seemed kind of important. Harry stole a quick glance at Ron and sighed, he wished Hermione were here. Hermione would have been able to figure out how to destroy a horcrux.

"Maybe we should go to the Burrow…" Ron said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Harry looked up at him. "Are you mental? We can't go back there," he said, poking the fire with a nearby stick.

Ron returned to looking sullen before broaching his next idea. "I know another place, but I don't know if anyone is there."

Harry waited for him to continue.

"It used to be my aunt's place, Shell Cottage. On a quiet beach," Ron said, resting his face in his hands. "Bill and Fleur were supposed to live there together. Not sure if they're there now though."

"It might be worth a go," Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit more hopeful. "Maybe we can try after nightfall," he suggested.

* * *

After several hours, Hermione woke up again, slowly opened her eyes, and screamed.

The Dark Lord looked down at her impassively. "Good evening, Ms. Granger," he said with a smirk.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. He had done that on purpose. "Why the sudden change of scenery?" She asked, gesturing to the room.

He turned from her for a moment to grab a vial from the nearby desk. "I had to see if you were capable. You see, Ms. Granger, I've been working on something recently and you seemed like the best test subject." He returned to the side of the bed and held the vial to her lips. "Drink."

Joy. Being the Dark Lord's test subject had always ranked rather highly on her list of "Incredibly Stupid Things To Do Before I Die." Hermione eyed the deep blue liquid suspiciously, but drank it anyway. Probably easier than having him force her to drink it. "And what are you working on?" She asked, realizing that a straight answer from him would be something of a miracle.

"You will find out in time," he replied, deliberately cryptic. Before she had a chance to respond, he pulled out the small black book that he had showed her once before and set it on the bed next to her. "You are to read this and have a thorough understanding of its concepts by tomorrow afternoon."

"Is there going to be an exam?" She said, not bothering to hide the facetious undertones.

"Oh, I will be quizzing you personally, Ms. Granger," he said before walking to the door. He paused, his hand resting on the doorframe as he looked at her, "Sleep well." Never had the phrase sounded so ominous.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the book. It was so unassuming; it could easily be overlooked in a library. She picked it up and held it, caressing the cover with her right hand before opening it gently. Though the book was physically small, it was by no means short on information. The writing was small and cramped and at times Hermione had to squint to read it. It was split up into different sections, the first discussing the definition of "Magicae" and how magic itself wasn't evil or good; those moralities were forced upon it by the wizard or witch practicing it. Hermione hadn't thought of it that way before, but it made sense.

Though Lord Voldemort had bid her to sleep, Hermione couldn't put the book down. It was like finally getting a sip of water after traveling for miles through the desert. She took the opportunity to quench her thirst. As she read she began to question the differentiations of magic that were so commonly taught. She paused at the end of a chapter to reflect and possibly call it a night, but when she glanced back down to read the title of the new chapter, her eyebrows rose. _Chapter V: Magical Companions_. The book pulled her back into its pages and she vowed that after this chapter, she would get some sleep.

* * *

Harry and Ron stood outside on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Shell Cottage was dimly lit from the inside, the flickering light of candles barely visible through the cream colored curtains. The only sound they heard was the waves crashing against the rocks below them. Harry and Ron approached the cottage cautiously and looked through the windows. Bill and Fleur were sitting quietly at a small wooden table, staring down into steaming mugs. Ron breathed a sigh of relief and went to knock on the door.

"It's me!" Ron said, as the door had not yet opened.

Bill opened the door slowly, his wand at the ready. "Ron?" Bill paused for a moment, "How did Fred first show his magical abilities?"

"What?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Just answer the question!" Bill said.

"H-He blew up the toilet downstairs," he said, never thinking he would be forced to answer such a question under these circumstances.

Harry snorted and Bill lowered his wand. "Harry too? Come inside," he said, opening the door and ushering them in.

Fleur peered out from the kitchen. "Who iz eet?"

"Ron and Harry," Bill replied, looking perplexed.

They all gathered in the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"What happened?" Bill asked.

"It's kind of a long story…" Harry began.

* * *

Hermione set the book on the nightstand and lay back, staring at the ceiling. She hadn't read much before about magical companions, but it was fascinating; the idea that people could have compatible magic cores kind of reminded her of wands and their relationship to the wielder. Though the idea was intriguing, Hermione had her doubts. She wasn't sure it was possible that one's magic could become stronger simply by finding a magical companion. Perhaps people long ago simply fooled themselves into thinking as such. Perhaps it had just been the product of good work and excellent partnerships. Hermione yawned and turned over on her side. She looked forward to finishing the book in the morning. She couldn't imagine what kind of "quiz" Voldemort would conjure up, but she was sure it would be unpleasant. She didn't know why, but she was determined to impress him.

Within minutes, Hermione fell asleep, dreaming of dark figures, unspoken promises, and powerful magic.

In the study adjacent to her room, Lord Voldemort sat at a large mahogany desk, where various pieces of note-filled parchments covered the surface. He smirked as he thought of Hermione Granger, the clever little witch, soon to be _his_ clever little witch. He picked up a crystal decanter, his slender fingers gripping the neck of it, and poured himself a glass of wine. The Potter boy wouldn't know what hit him.


	5. Dreams and Quizzes

AN: I apologize profusely for taking so long with this update. I've been incredibly busy and haven't had as much time to write. The next update will likely be mid-December. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed! If you left a signed review, I replied via PM. To Omsec – No, a Ron/Harry hookup will NOT be happening. And as for the M rating, be patient ;) Also, thank you to NotShakespeare for the wonderful review! I hope you approve of Hermione's attitude in this chapter.

V. Dreams and Quizzes

_She was walking through a forest, the Forbidden Forest perhaps, and she was lost. She had been looking for something, though she couldn't remember what it was that she had been looking for. It was a full moon and the dense canopy of trees caused shafts of moonlight to form, highlighting little and casting most of the forest into shadow. She paused for a moment, trying to decide which way to go, when she felt the barest touch of lips against her ear. She gasped._

_ "Out for a midnight stroll?" The whisper against her ear caused her to shiver._

_ She turned abruptly to confront the voice, and found herself inches away from the Dark Lord. "I'm looking for something," she said, her brow furrowed._

_ "Oh? And what are you looking for, my pet?" His lips ghosted over hers as he spoke and he smirked when Hermione's cheeks flushed. _

_ "I….I-I don't remember," she said, attempting to take a step away from him. _

_ He reached out and entwined his long fingers in her hair before gripping it tightly. He pulled her to him and tipped her head back so that she was forced to look up at him. Hermione felt her pulse quicken, her flush deepening. They looked into each other's eyes for several long moments. _

_ "Interesting," the Dark Lord said as he looked away from her for a moment, as if mulling something over. It wasn't long before his attention returned to her, however, and his other arm snaked around her waist._

_ Hermione felt the urge to press her body to his. She had an overwhelming need to make them one. Hadn't she lost something? Her brain felt foggy and it only exacerbated her muddled thoughts when the Dark Lord leaned down and kissed her forcefully. With a single kiss Hermione felt herself becoming undone. Her fingers grasped at his robes, not with the intention to undress him, but because she felt like she was falling. She moaned, her eyes clenched tightly shut. If he stopped the kiss, she would surely die. He was like oxygen. But stop it he did by pulling her back by her hair. Panting, she tried to pull him to her, which only caused him to chuckle darkly. _

_ "Please…" she begged, her eyes refusing to leave his._

_ "What do you want, little one? Tell me," he looked at her intently, drinking in her current state with obvious delight._

_ "You."_

Hermione gasped and sat bolt upright in bed, the book she had been reading the night before fell to the floor with a dull thump. Her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and she felt an unsated throb at the apex of her thighs. She gasped and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. This could not be happening. Absolutely not. But it had seemed so _real_, which is perhaps what unnerved her the most. Hermione wasn't accustomed to such vivid dreams, and the fact that such a dream should happen now, especially considering the contents…it was suspicious to say the least. She did NOT have those feelings for Lord Voldemort. With a huff, she got out of bed and retrieved the book. There were still a few chapters left to read and she wanted to have a chance to review the entire book again before her little exam later. Her hands shook as she held the unassuming book.

Lord Voldemort stood in his potions laboratory, tinkering with several different ingredients. He was quite pleased with the way things were going. The girl was giving him minimal fuss, and the first step had been a success. He glanced into a small black cauldron, the contents of which simmered delicately, and pulled out a slim crystal vial. The vial held a most peculiar substance, and for a casual onlooker, it would have been difficult to tell whether the substance was liquid or something else entirely. Lord Voldemort held it reverently, unstopping it with gentle fingers. He added the contents of the vial to the potion, the opalescent substance dripping in slowly with several heavy drops. The contents of the cauldron turned dark green before returning to an inky black.

Once the potion was complete, the girl would drink it. He smirked. He couldn't wait to have that know-it-all Gryffindor crawling to him, bending her to his will. A member of the Golden Trio under his control. How utterly delightful.

Hermione caressed the leather cover of the book idly, her eyes unfocused. As she drew tiny circles with her fingertips, she pondered the actions of her captor. He wanted her to read this book because "there was much for her to learn outside of the Hogwarts curriculum". But she knew there was something more.  
Amoral magic….magical companions….  
The sudden creak of the door jolted her and she turned to look at the intruder, her brown curls whipping against her cheek.

"I hope you've completed your assignment," Voldemort said, his mouth quirking into a smile that suggested certain punishment if she hadn't done as he'd asked. Or told, rather.

She forced a smile that she knew was unconvincing. Of course she had finished the book. One did not place a book in front of Hermione Granger and expect it to remain unread. As he looked down at her, the dream from last night floated through her thoughts, unannounced, and she flushed.

"Good," he smirked, walking casually to the bed and holding out his hand for the book.

Hermione held it against her chest protectively for a moment before handing it over begrudgingly.

"There will be more books, Ms. Granger…_if_ you pass my test." His grasped the book in one hand, his long, pale fingers looking like talons. "Tell me," he continued, strolling around the room, "What did you learn about magic and intention?"

Hermione glared at him as he paced. "That magic is amoral. It isn't inherently 'good' or 'evil' and it only becomes so based upon the intention of the user."

"Very good, Ms. Granger. I see you can read and regurgitate words quite easily."

She flushed again, this time in anger. "I'm not going to play your stupid little game," she hissed.

She had never seen anyone move so quickly. In one graceful, swooping movement, he was upon her, his fingers gripping her hair. "Oh, but you _are_ playing, pet. I've been kind to you, but I can be cruel." He tossed her to the floor, where she landed with a soft grunt.

She suddenly broke, as if waking from a strange dream. "KIND?!" She shouted from her sprawled position on the floor. "What do YOU know of kindness? Why are you keeping me here? Giving me books? What's in it for you?"

He walked towards her with deliberate slowness, eerily calm, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Because I see great potential in you. The Order, your _friends_, have left you here to die." He crouched beside her and pressed his wand against her throat. Hermione stiffened, but the anger in her eyes refused to disperse.

"That isn't true," she spat.

"Isn't it?" He replied softly.

She leaned forward, forcing the wand at her throat to dig into her skin. "I will NEVER swear allegiance to you."

"Crucio," he whispered, enjoying the way the word slipped so easily, so effortlessly, from his thin lips.

A scream was ripped from her as her body contorted in pain. Voldemort slowly stood, watching her thrash. His eyes closed briefly as his body responded to her passionate screams. When she began clawing at the floor, he ended the curse. Hermione slowly curled into the fetal position, her breath escaping her in labored pants.

As if suddenly inspired by her helplessness, Voldemort held out his hand, drawing Hermione's body up off of the floor to hover in front of him. Small aftershocks of the curse caused her body to sporadically tremble and despite her best efforts, a soft whimper escaped her lips. Their eyes met and Hermione gasped as the Dark Lord invaded her mind. Her current state allowed him easier access and he flipped through her most recent memories with ease.

He paused his search when a fleeting image of he and Hermione caught his eye. They were kissing in a dark forest and the young witch was clinging to him. He smirked as he watched and when he pulled out of her mind, he chuckled.

"You say you despise me, Hermione, yet your dreams say otherwise."

"No," she said, her brow furrowed. "You….did something to me."

Voldemort grasped her chin. "I've done no such thing. Have you ever considered, Hermione, that power, knowledge….can be seductive?" His face was rather close to hers, and she could feel his breath against her lips. "Though you will refuse to admit it, there is part of you that _wants_ this. I can teach you things that you would never learn under the Order's tutelage."

Hermione said nothing, opting to stare at him with stubborn determination.

"However, I can always return you to the dungeons. You can stay there without company, without books, without the mental stimulation that you so crave. You can waste away in that cell until the war ends, at which point I will no longer have any use for you." He released her chin and let her fall to the floor in a heap. "The choice is yours."

Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry in front of him. Her limited options presented her with a conundrum. Surely, becoming Voldemort's student would somehow betray her friends, yet she couldn't imagine being confined to a cell for Merlin knows how long. That was a fate worse than death. In learning from him, there might be a way to overthrow him, to learn his weaknesses, or even gain his trust. It was a long shot, but what other choice did she have? In a cell she would waste away and become absolutely useless.

"I want to learn…" she said, her voice sounding rather hoarse.

"Good girl," he said, his tone vaguely patronizing. "I will send someone here to collect you later this evening. I want you to be present for a….ceremony, of sorts." He walked past her, his silky robes brushing against her bare arm.

Hermione continued sitting on the floor, even after she heard the door close with a definitive thud.

* * *

After telling their tale to Fleur and Bill, Ron and Harry were shown to their room.

"Eet izn't much," Fleur said, handing extra blankets to Harry, "But eet's safe here."

Harry smiled. "Thank you. You've been more than helpful." With a nod, he walked into the small room and set the blankets down.

"Any ideas?" Ron asked, yawning.

"It's getting late," Harry said with a sigh, rubbing his eyes beneath his spectacles. "Maybe we can think of something in the morning."

"Do you think she's still alive, Harry?" Ron asked suddenly, his voice heavy with sorrow. Harry swore he heard Ron's voice crack, but the red head had turned his back to him, fiddling with one of the blankets.

"I'm sure she's alive. I know it. She's the brightest witch of her age, remember?" He tried to sound confident, but he wasn't so sure. He had no idea what the next step should be. There were too many holes, too many unanswered questions. He had a horcrux, but had no idea how to destroy it. He had no idea where the others were, just as he had no idea where to find Hermione. So many people were relying on him, accepting that he knew what to do. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and unclasped the locket from his neck. Some savior he was.

* * *

Hermione was leaning against a bedpost when a house elf arrived, a black bundle of fabric in its small arms. She pushed herself off of the bed and greeted the creature.

"This is for you, miss," the elf squeaked.

Hermione took the soft fabric and untied the velvet ribbon that held it together. A small piece of parchment lay underneath the bow.

_A gift for you to wear this evening. You have one hour. Don't keep me waiting._

Hermione set the parchment on the bed and grabbed the top of the garment, letting it unfold with a gentle whisper of delicate fabric. She stared at the simple black dress with confusion.

And now he was sending her presents. Fantastic.


	6. The Price of Desire

**AN**: Thank you to all of you who favorited, read, and reviewed. A special thanks to Sweet Tang Honney, Hermione Voldemort Riddle, and Vestal Harlot. I was a little concerned when I only received three reviews on the last chapter. Thank you again, Vestal, for the encouragement. I hope everyone is still enjoying this story! And without further ado, here is the next chapter! :D

Chapter VI – The Price of Desire

Hermione looked down, running her hands along her subtle curves, which were currently clad in the dress the Dark Lord had given her. It was a simple shift. Almost surprisingly simple from someone who seemed so extravagant. Not for the first time that evening, she wondered what this ceremony was about. Why did he require her presence?

Before her hour had elapsed, the house elf returned to style her hair and highlight her features with soft additions of makeup. Her lips, however, were painted a deep, bloody red. It was peculiar, seeing herself dolled up. Her fingers moved to touch her lips, but they hovered just above, not wanting to smudge the color. _I look like a clown_, she thought, but as she adjusted to the shock of riotous color, she realized it made her lips look full and seductive, inviting. What ceremony, she wondered, would cause the occasion for such deep red lips?

"It's time to go, miss," the house elf said softly.

Hermione glanced down. "I don't have any shoes," she said, gesturing down to her bare feet.

"Miss doesn't need any," the elf said, heading to the door. With a snap of the elf's fingers, Hermione's arms were magically shackled behind her back. Invisible shackles, how utterly profound. Bare feet, a simple yet elegant dress, and red lips. Was he simply trying to show his current power over her?

As the evening progressed, she felt more and more like a sacrifice. Perhaps Voldemort had finally had enough of her. Perhaps he had reconsidered. She lifted her chin and walked out into the hallway with as much dignity as she could muster.

Hermione could feel the chill of the stones even through the carpet. With every step her nervousness seemed to increase, as if she was walking to her death, and she suddenly felt incredibly foolish for accepting Lord Voldemort's offer.

The cool stones against her feet reminded her of being in the Forbidden Forest. A place of cold and isolation in her dream. Except…the Dark Lord had been there. Her cheeks flushed at the mere memory, which caused her brow to furrow. Her strange desire for her captor was unwanted, but somewhere deep within Hermione's subconscious, it was undeniable. She attempted to reason that such desires were simply the product of isolation from everyone but Him.

The slight elf led her through the maze-like manor, finally coming to a halt before an imposing set of heavy oak doors. Hermione could hear faint voices behind the door, but the voices ceased as the elf knocked. After the elf knocked three times, the doors parted, opening slowly to reveal a surreal scene.

Lord Voldemort stood on a raised dais, dressed in his usual black silk robes. Around the dais stood a small sampling of masked Death Eaters, his inner circle no doubt. It was oddly quiet as all of the masked faces turned to stare at her.

"Please come in, Ms. Granger," the Dark Lord hissed, spreading his arms and gesturing to the dais on which he currently stood.

Hermione remained a statue in the doorway, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

"Do you require additional encouragement, my dear?" His tone mocked her and barely heard chuckles rippled through the masked assembly.

That comment spurred her into action, the imperius curse would only add insult to injury. She walked to him in slow but deliberate movements, through the small pathway created by the bodies of his followers. Hermione took a deep breath as she ascended the stairs, thinking that her life was surely coming to an end. Killing her in front of a handful of his followers would prove that he was one step closer to winning. Perhaps the Dark Lord thought her death would encourage Harry to make rash decisions.

She stared into the scarlet eyes of Lord Voldemort and he returned her gaze in a way that would make any sane person shudder. With a snap of his fingers, the invisible shackles ceased to bind her.

"Brave as you are, little Gryffindor," he whispered, "I know you do not wish to die, or you would have refused my offer."

Hermione remained silent, wondering if he was going to have her beg for mercy. Her silence, however, only seemed to amuse him.

"I'm not going to kill you. I'm just taking certain…" he paused, a small smile playing about his lips, "precautions."

Hermione stared at him incredulously as he drew a small vial from his robes. It was filled with a thick, dark liquid, the likes of which she had never seen before. Her eyes flicked from the vial, to his face, and back again.

"This," he held the vial up, "will ensure you do no damage to me or my followers while under my tutelage."

"Why this potion? Why not an unbreakable vow?" Hermione said.

"Because this will make sure you do not sneak through any loopholes that can sometimes occur when making an unbreakable vow," he explained, surprisingly patient. "But the choice is still yours, Ms. Granger. You can take the potion or I can leave you to waste away in the dungeon." He took a step back, waiting for her to say it, to submit to him.

An enormous amount of guilt and trepidation settled on Hermione's shoulders. She felt heavy with it. The potion was suspicious, she couldn't know all of its effects and yet if he really wished to, he could keep her in a cell until he wanted to imperius her to kill Harry or something equally foul. There were no good outcomes, not in a situation like this. The potion, suspicious though it may be, might be her only hope of escape. If he trusted her, if he was teaching her, there would be more opportunities. She wouldn't simply have to wait for someone to save her.

She took a step forward and held out her hand, knowing that verbal assent wasn't necessary. Lord Voldemort smirked and uncorked the vial, ignoring her outstretched hand.

He gripped her shoulder and turned her body so that she faced their silent audience. "This might hurt a bit," he said as he held the vial to her lips.

Hermione suffered a brief moment of panic, the panic one feels when a big decision has been made and there is no going back. She was on the precipice of something dark and unknown. The thick liquid slid past her lips and the Dark Lord snaked an arm over her chest to steady her, to ensure that every last drop was swallowed. It felt like tar sliding down her throat, which caused Hermione to gag and her eyes to water.

"Ah ah ah," the Dark Lord admonished softly, tilting her head back and whispering something in parseltongue.

Her throat suddenly felt warm and her gagging ceased. The rest of the liquid slowly worked its way over her tongue and down her throat. Hermione panted slightly as she swallowed the last drops, waiting for something to happen. Lord Voldemort released her.

It started in her stomach, but soon branched out to her chest and limbs. A searing pain traveled through her, similar to that of the cruciatus, but even more intense somehow. She screamed and fell to the unforgiving floor with a resounding thud. The pain was just as slow moving as the potion. Her screams filled the room for several agonizing minutes as the pain traveled towards her toes and fingertips. Hermione wasn't sure if she would survive it. It just kept going and going and going….and then suddenly, it stopped. It was so sudden that Hermione gasped as if she had been doused with cold water.

Lord Voldemort looked down at her and she noticed a light sheen of sweat on his brow. Hermione remained on the floor, using all of her energy to calm her labored breathing.

The Dark Lord seemed pleased as he looked into her eyes.

"Hermione Granger is mine," he announced, looking up to address his inner circle.

Hermione heard him, though her eyes fluttered and it was a struggle for her to stay awake. There were murmurs and chuckles from the small sea of masks.

"Soon, Harry Potter will be dead and the wizarding world will be ours," he said, stepping over Hermione and pacing along the dais.

She felt like she was missing something, as if the entire room was prematurely celebrating his victory. Her heart sank as she wondered why she was so important. What had she taken?

Lord Voldemort looked down at her again, his eyes raking over her form as if he had only just noticed her mussed state. Her black dress had bunched around her thighs, the straps slipped from her shoulders. She quickly adjusted her garment.

"Up, Ms. Granger," the Dark Lord ordered.

Much to her surprise, she complied, pulling her exhausted body up from the floor. Well, her fuzzy brain mused, that certainly wasn't promising. She had to find out the exact effects of the potion and soon.

He beckoned for her to follow him before he addressed his followers once more. "Our meeting is concluded. Keep in mind all that I have said tonight."

The masked figures bowed and murmurings of "Yes, my Lord" floated towards them. The Dark Lord descended the steps with Hermione in tow, his followers bowing as he walked among them.

The large oak doors closed behind them and her legs buckled. Before she could hit the floor, however, an invisible force caught her and levitated her behind him. He continued to walk and Hermione fell asleep while floating through the air, the only sound the delicate swish of the Dark Lord's robes.

* * *

She awoke sometime later to soft sheets and the scribble of a quill. Her muscles ached as she tried to shift and see her surroundings, which caused a soft groan to escape her lips. The scratching of the quill halted and a moment later the Dark Lord was standing over her. He seemed softer somehow, as if the harsh lines of his face were now outlined and overwhelmed by the soft blurry light that seemingly only occurred in dreams. Hermione studied him, saying nothing, for several long moments. Lord Voldemort smirked.

"What did you do to me?" She asked, her voice sounding as tired as her body felt.

"I took precautions, just as I told you," he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She should know by now that getting straight answers from the Dark Lord was a difficult task. He spoke in partial truths, never revealing all of his secrets. However, _he_ should know by now that Hermione Granger didn't give up so easily.

"I'm bound to you," she pressed, knowing that it was true, but not the full extent of what it meant to be bound.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said, clearly not taking her bait to provide more information.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried to push herself up into a sitting position. With a fair amount of wincing, she managed to do so. Seeing her discomfort, the Dark Lord stood to retrieve a vial from his desk. When he returned to her side, he slipped his hand underneath her head and held the vial to her lips.

"Drink," he said, "It will help to relax your muscles."

Hermione gasped at his touch, slight though it was. His fingertips grazing her scalp sent delicious shocks through her body all the way to her toes. Though it was painful, her body arched towards him as she drank the potion he offered her. As her eyes fluttered closed, she missed the pleased smirk that tugged at Lord Voldemort's thin lips.

The potion began working immediately, and though it didn't completely dispense with all of her aches, she felt much more comfortable. Opening her eyes again, she took a deep breath. It was as if her senses were suddenly heightened. She could feel the gentle thrum of his magic against her skin, smell the sandalwood and sage that clung to him. Without even realizing it, she reached out a hand to touch his chest.

He watched her with intense interest, as if witnessing a peculiar experiment. Her fingers entwined in his robes and she pulled herself to him. Her expression was conflicted.

"What in the hell did you do?" She asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly. She longed to touch him, to kiss him and breath him in…and yet part of her rejected those feelings so strongly that it was painful.

"The effects of the potion are intensified over the next twenty four hours, my pet," he said, brushing his fingernails along her cheek before entwining them in her hair.

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to melt into his embrace. She began to scream out of frustration, but he cut her off with a searing kiss. Hermione Granger was lost. This need was far greater and more overwhelming than the need for answers or her need to despise him. She clutched his robes and pressed her body to his, drinking him in through a battle of tongues.

Removing his hand from her riotous curls, he grasped her wrists and pushed her down into the bed before ending the kiss. Hermione let out a whimper of disappointment and attempted to catch his lips again. He chuckled darkly.

"Ah, Hermione, you are lovely when you submit to me," he said, his voice a low growl that made her press her thighs together.

Lord Voldemort whispered something she couldn't quite catch and her wrists were latched to the bedpost. He pulled back from her and ripped her dress open in one fluid movement. The cool air against her skin caused her to gasp. He didn't touch her for several minutes, only studied her naked form, his eyes raking over every curve, every inch of deliciously bare skin.

When he created the potion, he only knew for certain that she would become his, bound to him in a way that had never been attempted. It was assumed that she would feel more connected to him, though her free will would still be present. He had not expected her body to be so hungry for his touch, but he welcomed this new development wholeheartedly. He could use her desire for his benefit; to make her fall for him, need him, love him. Her submission would be even more exquisite. It was his hope that her current ravenous desire would remain after the potion settled in fully, though he knew it would be to a lesser degree.

As much as he wished to, he wouldn't take her tonight. He wanted her to crawl to him, to beg him for his touch when she wasn't quite so intoxicated. That did not mean, however, that he couldn't give her a taste, an infuriating sample of what could be.

"Tell me that you're mine, I want to hear it from your lips," he said as he raked his fingernails down her abdomen.

"I'm yours," she breathed, though her face contorted briefly, as if fighting the words that spilled so effortlessly from her lips.

He leaned down to kiss her again, sucking what little defiance existed within her, at least until tomorrow. For now she was his, completely. His precious little horcrux.


	7. Meetings and Plans

**AN: **Wow! Thank you so much for all of the reviews on the last chapter. They definitely motivated me to finish chapter 7. I wanted to thank the two anonymous reviewers as well. All reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. If you left a signed review, I replied via PM. Again, thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following. You guys rock. Also, sexier scenes will be available in the AFF version of the story. It's listed under the same title and author name on that site.

_Chapter VII – Meetings and Plans_

The window of Harry and Ron's room at Shell Cottage was still dark when Bill barged in, causing Harry to sit bolt upright.

"We've received news," he said in one quick exhale of breath. Ron moaned groggily.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Bill's words ignited him. After so many weeks of feeling stagnant, any news felt like progress.

"Yes," he replied. "There's going to be an Order meeting here in an hour. Someone received an anonymous tip, it seems." And with that he left, the door still ajar, to prepare for the meeting to come.

Harry stared after him for a moment, wanting to ask more questions but knowing that Bill wouldn't be able to provide any more answers. He jumped out of bed to get ready even though the better part of an hour still stretched before the meeting. With an inexplicable sense of urgency, he threw a pillow at Ron.

"Get up, you git," Harry said. "The rest of the Order will be here in an hour."

* * *

Sunlight struck her eyelids with an almost physical force. She opened her eyes only slightly and winced, turning over onto her side. The room was quiet and still besides the soft rustle of bed sheets. What sort of nightmare had she fallen into? The ceremony, the vile potion, the Dark Lord's lips. Hermione blushed. He had touched her intimately, tasted her tongue, and she had practically begged him for it. The words had tumbled from her lips with surprising ease, but she guessed that had been a side effect of the potion, numbing her logical brain and inflaming her erogenous zones. She remembered him telling her that the potion's effects would be more pronounced within the first twenty-four hours. Now that those hours were beginning to wane, she felt more in control, though she felt tired and slightly disoriented. Perhaps this was similar to recovering from a hangover, she mused. Not that she would know.

As her faculties slowly returned she sat up and glanced out the window. She still didn't know what he had given her. Precautions, he had said. All she could determine was that the potion had given him certain powers over her. She couldn't harm him. But what potion was it? An original potion of the Dark Lord's design?

It was then that a house elf arrived, carrying a silver tray with a pot of tea and several breakfast items: scones, fresh fruit, thin slices of ham, and hard-boiled eggs. Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"Breakfast for you, miss. The Master will be out today, but miss can summon me if miss needs anything," the house elf said, setting the tray on a small wooden table near the fireplace.

Well, this was certainly…different. The notable difference in treatment made her suspicious, but the aroma of warm, fresh food forced her suspicions to the back of her mind for the present. She poured herself a cup of earl grey and bit into a hard-boiled egg with seeming reverence. A hum of delight reverberated in her throat as she finished the egg. On this morning, with warm food, a soft bed, and the absence of the Dark Lord, she considered herself rather lucky indeed.

If only she had a book.

* * *

Tonks, Remus, Kingsley, Arthur, Fred, George, Bill, Fleur, Ron, and Harry all crowded around the kitchen table at Shell Cottage. The energy in the room was tense yet everyone was quite happy to see each other again. It had seemed like ages since Harry had last seen those closest to him. After the many hugs and greetings were exchanged, Kingsley Shacklebolt cleared his throat.

"A rumor has been circulating within a small group of people," Kingsley began, somber. Everyone in the room seemed to hang on his every word, Harry especially. "They say Hermione Granger has been bound to the Dark Lord."

All was silent for several moments. "What does that mean? Bound how?" Harry asked, leaning forward and placing his palms against the table.

"We can't be sure," Kingsley continued. "It was also said that she was….willing." The last word was forced from his lips and he glanced out the window, avoiding eye contact with Harry. Everyone else exchanged glances.

"There's no way she would…" Harry started, but Ron cut him off.

"She switched sides?! Blimey, I never would've expected…"

"Hermione DIDN'T switch sides, Ron!" Harry yelled. Everyone looked at him, tense.

"Yeah, you silly git! Why would good ol' Hermione want to be 'bound' to snake face?" Fred said, looking at Ron as if he were an idiot.

"Right! Sounds quite gross to me, Fred," George added, elbowing his brother conspiratorially. They grinned at each other.

Harry looked down at the table as his fingers tensed and bent into the wood. "I have to find her," he said without looking up, more to himself than anyone present.  
"Harry," Remus began, who, despite the tense atmosphere of the kitchen, still managed to keep the tone of a mentor. "We don't know where their headquarters are and even if we did…" he shook his head sadly, "we currently don't have the power to march in on them."

Tonks touched his arm and gave him a sympathetic smile. Remus took her hand in his.

Harry slammed his fist against the table, causing everyone to jump. "We cannot just stand by while HE tortures her," he raked his fingers through his unkept hair.

Arthur Weasley patted him on the shoulder. "None of us want to stand by, lad. But we need a plan." Silent nods accompanied his statement.

For one brief moment Harry considered telling them about the horcruxes, about that which Dumbledore had asked of him. But the words died on his lips. It was his burden and as much as he didn't want it to be true, he was the Chosen One.

"Ron and I…" he said, trying to choose his words carefully, "we have to leave. Before he died, Dumbledore gave me a mission and I promised him that I would do it. But we have to do it alone."

There were multiple offers of help, pleading with him to share his burden. Harry simply shook his head. "This is the way it has to be," he said.

The following hour proceeded with heated discussion and arguments; arguments about Hermione, about the state of the war, and about the secret assignment given to Harry. The Light side was unraveling.

Remus, managing to quiet everyone, spoke. "Dumbledore told us something before he died. He told us to trust Harry. That he was our only hope." He looked at everyone in turn, his voice a strange mingling of hope and regret. "I trust Harry."

* * *

Lord Voldemort sighed. He had spent the day hunting down Ollivander and questioning him about the existence of the Deathly Hallows. It hadn't taken an extraordinary amount of effort for the old man to begin to crack, though the location of the wand remained a mystery. The Elder Wand was his main concern, though he wished to find the resurrection stone and the cloak of invisibility if possible. He smirked. The Master of Death, the lore said. Hadn't he already earned that title?

As he stared into the flames of the fireplace, he thought of his newest and most interesting acquisition and wondered how long it would take for her to put the pieces together. She was an exceedingly clever girl, especially for a mudblood. Though, truth be told, he had found quite a few clever mudbloods. But beginning a movement meant having something to rally behind and feelings of superiority and exclusiveness appealed to many. The Light Side had lost a precious mind indeed when he took Hermione Granger.  
He had given her the book on purpose, _Magicae_, as a kind of test. He had tested her that evening in the bath, giving her a potion once she had fallen under a magical sleep. Hermione Granger was Lord Voldemort's magical companion. It made her the perfect subject for the potion he had been working on for so long; the potion that would make a human being a horcrux. He thought back to the ceremony and how her body had contorted so beautifully, making space for a precious piece of his soul. And what a lovely vessel she was, with soft supple curves and honey brown eyes.

The twenty-four hours had elapsed. He wondered how his pet was faring.

* * *

Hermione Granger was bored. Her aches were mostly gone, she was full for the first time in ages, but mental stimulation was lacking. She had puzzled over the potion the Dark Lord had given her, but she felt none the wiser. The library would have been a good place to begin research, but a library wasn't currently available to her. The Dark Lord _had_ loaned her that one book, but, come to think of it, she had no idea what had happened to it after she was relocated.

Just as she was attempting to remember the contents of the peculiar black volume, Lord Voldemort entered, eerily silent.

Hermione jumped. "Could you make a little more noise next time?" She said with a frown.

He quirked a hairless brow, "I much prefer hearing your _noises_," he said, drawing out the 's' with a slight hiss.

Hermione's mouth formed a thin line, though a delightful shiver traveled down her spine. It didn't go unnoticed. "I wasn't expecting you. The house elf said you were busy." She paused for a moment. "Were you….gathering information? Torturing prisoners? Killing muggles for sport?"

Voldemort smirked. "Nothing that you should concern yourself with." In an elegant swirl of black robes, he sat in the large leather chair by the fire. He gestured for her to sit at his feet.

Hermione clenched her fists. It was such a peculiar feeling; the simultaneous desire to both please someone and punch them in the face. With stilted movements she moved to stand before him.

"Sit, Ms. Granger," he said, dangerously calm.

She really didn't care for one-word commands. They made her feel like some kind of animal. Then again, he did often refer to her as his pet. "I'm not a dog," she replied, her frustration evident.

He stared at her for a moment before replying. "What an astute observation. Your powers of deduction are truly remarkable. No, I do not teach dogs the complexities of the Dark Arts nor do I lie with them." A blush crept up her cheeks at his last statement. "But I am your Lord and Master, Hermione Granger and you _will_ obey me."

As the word 'obey' slipped from his lips, she sank to her knees. She couldn't be sure if it was the way his eyes flashed or if it was simply a side effect of the potion, but her stubbornness probably wouldn't get her very far at this point.

He held out his right palm and a small stack of books suddenly materialized out of black smoke. "I want you to read these and take notes. They are primarily introductory texts, though one of them is a historical text that deals with Ancient Egypt." He levitated the stack and placed them on the desk near the window.

Hermione practically salivated at the sight of the books. It felt like ages since she had last studied and the thought of learning, regardless of the subject matter, made her smile. "I was wondering," she began, tearing her eyes away from the books and looking up at him, "if I could read the book about magicae again."

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps," he said, seeming to contemplate her request, "If you finish the other books I have given you and prove to me that you have mastered the concepts within them."

She nodded, feeling confident. It was very rare indeed for Hermione to be stumped over coursework.

He smirked down at her suddenly eager countenance. "Come here," he commanded, his tone different, deeper and more intimate.

She froze, her mouth going dry. She had purposefully avoided being too close, suspecting that his touch might cause her to become unraveled again. It had seemed like she would escape his clutches this evening and perhaps be able to spend it with her nose buried in a book instead of within the silken folds of his robes. Her brown eyes almost pleaded with his, but his remained cold and resolute. With a sigh she crept closer to his legs and paused, unsure.

He pulled her closer so that her body was placed snugly between his legs, her chest temptingly close to his stomach and…she blushed. His fingers grasped her chin. It was happening again, that slow undulation of desire that consumed her; traveling from his fingertips, to her lips, and methodically enveloping the rest of her body. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to savor the moment without the guilt of who was causing said desire.

"Open your eyes," he said in almost a whisper. Even when whispering his tone seemed demanding.

She obeyed and immediately frowned. "Why?" she breathed. "Why did the potion make me feel like this?"

"Oh, your desire existed long before I poured that potion down your throat, my pet," he said as he stroked her hair. "But it troubles you because you were taught to despise me. Why fight it now?" He leaned towards her, forcing her head back so that they maintained eye contact. "I am who you will spend your days with and who will care for you. I am your teacher, your Master, and who you will confide in." He stared deeply into her eyes, willing her to believe his words.

It was so difficult for her to resist when he was so close. It was so tempting to give in; so easy to just submit completely, and yet part of her rebelled. She would escape. Harry would come. She would change the tide of the war.

Her lips inched closer to his. Oh, but the price of his lips was a high price indeed.

"That's it, my beauty," he hissed against her petal pink lips.

With a cry of frustration she pushed herself away and fell onto the floor. "No!" She scrambled backwards, her chest heaving with each stinging intake of breath.

His eyes were steel. He stood and stepped over her as if she were nothing more than a pile of refuse. Hermione had a strong urge to grab his cloak and beg him to stay. With shaking fingertips, she reached out and was promptly ignored.

"Finish the books, Ms. Granger," he said, suddenly cool and detached. "I will be in to check on your progress soon." And with that, he left.

Hermione felt a cold sweat break out on her brow, as if rejecting him caused her to be physically ill. She curled up on the floor in front of the fire and closed her eyes, haunted by images of the Dark Lord whispering temptations into her ear.


	8. A Weapon of Mass Destruction

AN: Wow. This chapter was a monster to write. I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you to Articcat621, NormalLestrange, Queen Serenity, Caradens, Baoswer, Emmiey, and Ucellina for reviewing! NormalLestrange, sorry about being such a tease ;) I'm going to write a steamier version of this chapter for AFF, so if you are interested, that will be up in a few days (most likely).

Also, is there something you all would like to see more of in the story? Let me know =) And thank you for your continued support!

* * *

_Chapter VIII – A Weapon of Mass Destruction_

After the Order meeting had concluded, Harry and Ron began to plot. They had been too stagnant, wallowing in the fact that they felt so lost. As Harry fiddled with the locket that hung heavily against his chest, they spoke in hushed voices. In the late hours of the evening, or perhaps early hours of the morning, they decided that they would head to Godric's Hollow the following evening. It was risky they knew, but it was the only lead they had.

"That place means something to him too," Harry said, more to convince himself than Ron. He hoped that his gut instinct to want to visit his birthplace didn't steer them wrong.

* * *

Hermione had woken up next to the fire the following morning, her limbs stiff and unforgiving as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She groaned. How pathetic it was to fall asleep on the floor, pining after Lord Voldemort. Her /captor/.

The house elf, who she learned was called Haxy, entered the room with another tray full of breakfast items. It wasn't quite as extravagant this morning, probably because she was being punished for last night, Hermione mused. After setting the tray down on the table next to the fireplace, Haxy summoned a quill and several sheets of parchment.

"For taking notes, miss," Haxy said, dirty trembling fingers holding out the items to her.

Hermione took them and thanked her, setting the supplies on the desk next to the small stack of books and asking the elf to light a few candles. It was so early that sunlight had yet to shine through the windows. The elf nodded, lit several candles, and disapparated.

Lacking the enthusiasm of yesterday, but grateful nonetheless, she had a light breakfast of buttered toast and tea. Raking her fingers through her unruly hair and sighing, she sat down at the desk and plucked a book from the top of the pile. She took a moment to trace her fingertips over the brown leather cover, appreciating the suppleness that only came with frequent use. Hermione could barely make out the title, 'A History of Ancient Egypt: 3150 BC – 2686 BC', which was engraved with flaking golden letters.

She opened it and began reading.

* * *

While Hermione spent the majority of her day quietly devouring book after book, Harry and Ron prepared for their venture. An increasing sense of uneasiness seemed to infect Harry like a fast travelling virus, but he didn't want to back out now. For well over a week, Harry had kept the locket stowed away in his room at Shell Cottage, but it didn't feel right to leave it there. After donning it during their initial discussion, he hadn't removed it. He could feel it affecting him in subtle ways, perhaps that was where some of the uneasiness was coming from, perhaps that meant he was on the right track.

"Alright, mate?" Ron asked, obviously feeling a bit uneasy himself. The wind from the beach on which they currently stood seemed to carry his words away into the vast expanse of the sea.

Harry simply nodded. They both cast a few minor spells to change their appearances and he swung a brown leather bag over his shoulder before taking Ron's arm. With a crack they disapparated, appearing somewhere on the outskirts of the small wizarding village. Snow was falling peacefully upon the cobblestones and thatched rooftops, making everything look like a festive postcard. With some reluctance, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his bag and draped it over the two of them. They had to hunch awkwardly in order for it to fully cover their bodies. As such, it was a long trek to the center of town. Harry continually cast a spell on their footprints to make them disappear from the snow, but as they passed a pub full of raucous laughter, he spotted the graveyard. He froze, almost causing Ron to walk out from under the cloak.

"What did you stop for?" Ron whispered.

"Come on," Harry said, pulling him towards the cemetery.

Realizing where they were headed, Ron didn't respond, nor did he respond when they finally found the grave of Harry's parents, choosing instead to place his hand upon his friend's shoulder. They stood for several minutes in silence. Just when Ron was going to offer his condolences, he noticed a woman staring at them.  
"Harry," he whispered so softly that Harry himself had trouble hearing him. "That woman is looking at us."

Harry turned to the woman in question and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place her. Before they could decide what to do, the woman gestured to them to follow her. Harry and Ron shared a glance.

"I don't like this, Harry," Ron said. "She shouldn't be able to see us."

"Maybe she knew Dumbledore. Maybe she has a special enchantment and actually has a message for us," Harry said. It was, perhaps, a long shot, but there had to be a reason she could see them when they were wearing the invisibility cloak. Dumbledore would have thought he would come to Godric's Hollow, right? And they weren't currently recognizable as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, though they were staring at the grave of Harry's parents.

"Isn't that…Bathilda Bagshot?" he asked." Perhaps she has been waiting for us," Harry said, pulling a reluctant Ron along.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ron moaned. They shed the cloak, suddenly feeling it wasn't really necessary.

They followed her all the way to a house, which they assumed was hers. They walked inside, the house rather warm, but sparsely lit.

"Are you Bathilda Bagshot?" Harry asked, but the woman didn't answer, instead gesturing for them to follow her into a sitting room.

"I don't like this, Harry," Ron reiterated, but they followed anyway.

After an awkward sitting room encounter in which traditional pleasantries were noticeably absent, the woman beckoned for Harry to follow her upstairs. "Come," she whispered to him softly so that Ron wouldn't hear the Parseltongue that spilled from her lips with hisses and gasps.

When Harry and Ron started to follow her, she shook her head almost violently and gestured first to Harry, then herself, and finally the ceiling.

"I think she wants me to go upstairs with her alone," he said, gazing into the strangely milky eyes of who he still presumed to be Bathilda Bagshot.

"I don't know, mate," Ron said, staring at the old woman suspiciously.

"She probably has something that she can only give to me," Harry responded, giving Ron a quick glance.

"Well…be quick, will you?" Ron said, shoving his clammy hands into his pockets.

Harry gestured for the woman to lead the way. She led him from the sitting room and up the stairs, her steps oddly disjointed as if she weren't used to the mechanics of having legs. They stopped in a small bedroom in which the only light was a pale beam of moonlight shining in through the window. Harry cast _lumos_ so that a small bubble of luminescence encased them.

"Do you have something for me?" He asked, expecting her, perhaps, to give him some kind of weapon that would destroy horcruxes.

The woman, however, simply stared at him.

Harry asked her again, but her face remained blank.

"Are you Harry Potter?" She asked, her voice low and raspy.

"Yes, yes I am."

As if on cue, his scar blinded him with pain to the point that he almost crumpled to the floor. A voice floated through his fog-addled brain; _hold him_, it said. He grasped his head and shouted, not even noticing that the body of Bathilda Bagshot had been carelessly discarded upon the floor, and it its place a gigantic snake sat coiled.

Ron stomped up the stairs. "Harry?!" He yelled, bursting into the room.

"HE'S COMING, RON. HE'S COMING." The snake dove at Harry, but Ron cast spell after spell to distract it. They had to apparate. They couldn't stay. Voldemort was coming.

Ron raced towards Harry and Harry reached out for Ron's hand, planning to make an escape through the window. But everything was a blur and during such moments of panic, things hardly ever go as planned. Harry had taken hold of Ron's hand and shouted something about the window through the haze of pain. They ran and Harry jumped, scattering glass upon the floorboards and the grass below, but Ron's fingers slipped from his grasp as Harry apparated. Ron's pale face stared, his mouth frozen in a scream just before Nagini wrapped her body around his.

Harry landed on the beach somewhere near Shell Cottage before falling unconscious. The waves lapped at his body as the sun began to rise over the water. Considering the circumstances, the scene was oddly peaceful.

Several hours later, Harry woke, tasting salt.

* * *

What began as elation quickly turned to disappointment when Lord Voldemort arrived at the former home of Bathilda Bagshot. Nagini held a Weasley, her body so tightly coiled that his skin was starting to turn blue. They spoke for several minutes in whispered hisses before he addressed his newest prisoner.

"Mr. Weasley. What a disappointment," he said dryly, twirling his wand between his fingertips.

Ron stared up at the Dark Lord with an expression of shock. Voldemort hissed a command to Nagini, who released him immediately. Ron tumbled to the floor in a heap as he gasped for air. After several heaving gulps of oxygen, he spoke.

"Harry is long gone," Ron said, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. He attempted to inconspicuously look for his wand.

"So I've noticed," the Dark Lord replied. So far, he was rather underwhelmed by Ron Weasley. He seemed like a weak link. With a sigh, he summoned Ron's wand and pocketed it.

"I suppose you're going to kill me now," Ron said, though he didn't seem defeated. Typical Gryffindor.

"Not yet, Mr. Weasley," he said, beginning to pace around Ron's sitting form. "I'm planning a little reunion."

Ron simply stared at him, not quite catching on.

Deciding to waste no more time on such an inferior mind, he bound the boy with a wordless spell before turning to Nagini. "_Stay here. Perhaps Potter will return in hopes of rescuing his friend,"_ he hissed. The Dark Lord touched the snake's head affectionately before apparating back to headquarters with Ron in tow.

He left the boy with several of his Death Eaters, instructing them to take the prisoner to the dungeons. Voldemort smirked and glanced towards the grand stairway. He may not have been able to catch Potter, but the Weasley boy would make an interesting gift for his pet. He had a feeling that the boy would react emotionally when seeing how much sway he held over Hermione. He wanted the wretch to become angry, to think that Hermione had switched sides or was at least headed in that direction. Her friend's anger would help break her just enough for her to succumb to him. If worse came to worse, he could always force the boy's tongue, but Lord Voldemort didn't think that would be necessary.

* * *

Hermione was reading, her left hand propping her chin, when the Dark Lord entered. He glided over to the desk and closed the book she was studying. The silk of his robes grazed her arm and she felt that now familiar tingle race along her skin.

"Care to take a break from your studies?" He said, a smirk playing about his lips. It wasn't a question.

Hermione stared up at him. The coldness he had shown her last night was no longer apparent and she wondered what had changed his attitude. After all, Lord Voldemort's happiness seemed to hinge upon her discomfort.

"I'm pretty sure that I don't have a choice," she replied, standing.

Not dignifying her statement with a response, he instead transformed her rather plain dress into a flattering set of black robes. He began to walk in a circle around her, making small adjustments to her hair and the robes. He even supplied her with shoes.

"What…? Why?" Hermione began to ask, but she stopped short when the Dark Lord stopped just in front of her.

He took her chin in his long fingers. "I want you to look nice for our guest, Hermione."

Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch, but flew open again at the word 'guest'. "What?!" She exclaimed, her eyes a window into all of the worry she felt. Did he have Harry? Who had he taken? She felt torn over wanting to yell at him and wanting to beg for mercy.

"Follow me," he said simply, placing his hand at the small of her back as he led her to the door.

It was a long and silent walk to the dungeons. Hermione felt sick, wondering if she was about to watch one of her friends die a horrible death. Once they reached a larger cell at the end of the corridor, Hermione gasped and practically threw herself against the bars.

"Ron!"

Ron looked up at her, taking in her well-groomed appearance. "Hermione?" He said, seemingly unsure.

Voldemort waved his hand and the door to the cell opened. "After you, my dear," he said, using the dark tone that made Hermione's stomach do little flips.

She rushed in and ignored his word choice. The Dark Lord's word choice, however, was not lost upon Ron Weasley.

"Ron, are you alright?" She asked, crouching down so that she could better assess his condition.

"I've been better," Ron said.

Hermione stared at him, worry etched into her face. He didn't seem pleased to see her. Hadn't he been wondering if she was okay?

"You seem just fine. Better than fine even. You weren't even in the dungeons," he said, as if accusing her.

The Dark Lord remained silent, choosing to let the scene play out on its own.

"Ron, I've been a prisoner here. I was down here for weeks, maybe months." She was both hurt and irritated by his distrust.

"Really, Hermione? Seems like the rumors are true to me," he said, glancing away.

"What rumors?" She asked softly.

"Kingsley said he heard you had been bound to You-Know-Who of your own free will." His eyes hardened as he spoke.

"Yes, but…" Ron's eyes blazed as the words fell from her lips. "But I didn't have a choice, Ron! I had to." She could feel the beginnings of tears sting her eyes.

"Oh, but you did have a choice, my pet," the Dark Lord said from behind her. "And who could blame you for not wanting to share a cell with Mr. Weasley."

She stood and glared at him. Ron glared as well, but his glare was seemingly reserved for Hermione.

Ron stood with a grimace. "I only wish I could tell Harry the truth about you. I can't believe you did this, Hermione. I can't bloody believe you would betray us," Ron spat.

Hermione slapped him with such force that Ron's cheek turned a deep shade of red. "Perhaps it's YOU who has betrayed ME, Ronald Weasley!" The tears began to flow in earnest and Hermione wiped them away angrily. "If you truly don't trust me…" She trailed off and turned towards the bars of the cell. His words had brought her own insecurities to the forefront. _Had_ she betrayed them?

"At least I didn't become the enemy's whore," Ron said, his words full of venom.

Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at him and whispered, "Crucio."

Ron fell to the floor as screams were wrenched from his throat. Hermione turned and watched for a moment, a sick feeling of satisfaction coursing through her. He wasn't her friend. Not anymore.

The Dark Lord halted the curse shortly after, pleased that Hermione hadn't tried to stop him. This little meeting was going exactly as planned.

A pang of guilt struck her as she watched Ron curled up on the floor, but the Dark Lord pulled her attention away.

"Come," he said softly, taking her out of the cell.

She glanced over her shoulder as they walked away, her teary gaze locking with Ron's. He looked at her coldly, though there was a hint of sadness lying just behind the sense of betrayal.

The journey back to the room seemed longer, though less silent. Hermione tried to contain her tears, but it seemed hopeless. Surprisingly, the Dark Lord said nothing and when they finally reached the room and he had magically locked the door, he put his arms around her.

"Shhh," he said, petting her hair.

Hermione never imagined that she would take comfort in Lord Voldemort's embrace, but she also never imagined that Ron Weasley would betray her. She buried her face in his robes, letting herself give into those delicious tingles and the comfort he offered. She could always yell at him tomorrow.

The Dark Lord smirked as the girl relaxed into his embrace. After several minutes had passed and Hermione seemed more calm, he led her to the bed and sat down with her. Placing his index finger under her chin, he forced her eyes to meet his.

"He doesn't deserve your tears, Hermione," he said as he wiped away a stray tear with his thumb.

Now that her initial sadness was beginning to subside, she closed her eyes and enjoyed his touch. He traced his fingers around her throat and before she opened her eyes again, his lips were upon hers. It was electric and Hermione felt herself giving in. A distant part of her mind admonished her, telling her to continue to fight, but she didn't feel like fighting right now. She had been fighting for so long.

When she began kissing him back and entwining her fingers in his robes, Lord Voldemort silently rejoiced. It was time to make her completely his. He pulled her body roughly against his before turning them and pushing her back against the mattress. He broke the kiss and looked down at her. Hermione stared up at him, breathless. Kissing him was like breathing pure magic, it made her feel lightheaded and yet she wanted more. It was raw power flowing over her tongue and along her every curve. With an unspoken spell, Hermione's robes disappeared, the cool air of the room causing gooseflesh to erupt on her arms and legs.

Lord Voldemort gazed at her hungrily, briefly imagining a collar around that beautiful neck. He held her wrists in a vice-like grip as he explored her neck with his lips and tongue. Hermione arched into him, her body begging for more of his touch. He played her body as if she were an exquisite instrument, exploring every inch of her supple flesh.

"Please," she begged, her mounting desire beginning to feel like a form of torture.

"Patience," he whispered against her lips.

Hermione shivered and twisted her body, enjoying the feel of his robes against her sensitive skin.

He continued to torture her until she begged and pleased nonstop, his name and 'please' becoming a sensuous mantra.

With a flourish he vanished his own robes. Hermione's hands flew to his body, tracing her fingertips against his pale chest. With a whisper, her hands were bound above her head and he smirked. Hermione pouted and tried to manipulate their bodies, which caused Voldemort to chuckle darkly.

As she lived and breathed, she needed him. There was absolutely no turning back now; her senses were overwhelmed by his presence, his power, and the dark magic that pulsed invisibly along his skin. It all called to her, begging to be as close to him as possible. Had Hermione been more lucid, perhaps she would have questioned her overwhelming desire for someone who had so recently crucio'd her friend.

He temped and teased, moans and sighs escaping her lips like a sensual melody. Just before he took her and fully claimed her as his, he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Tell me what you want, my beauty," he said, his voice low and almost dangerous.

"Please," she began and he wrapped his fingers in her curls and pulled, forcing her neck and body into a painful arch. "I need you…Master," she said, her voice strained due to her desire and her position.

Her submission was beautiful and as intricate as her fascinating mind. He rewarded her with one rough stroke, their bodies connecting. With a cry that was a complex mingling of pleasure and pain, Hermione relished in her decision to give in. Their coupling was not slow and sensual, but almost primal. The Dark Lord was taking what belonged to him. She remained on the brink for so long that she thought she might pass out from sensory overload. It was only then that she realized the Dark Lord had to give her permission. Her body was his. Little did she know that her soul belonged to him as well.

There was no love, but there was passion, and right at that moment, Hermione only cared about fulfillment. With a whispered command from the man above her, she came undone, screaming as tendrils of magic snaked through her core and her limbs.

As he watched her unravel, Lord Voldemort decided that he couldn't have found a better vessel for his soul. This was only the beginning. He would teach her patience, obedience, and pain. He would corrupt her by piquing her curiosity about dark magic and letting her slowly become addicted. She was his beautiful weapon of mass destruction. He claimed her lips again, swallowing her screams.


End file.
